Where There's Smoke
by i88
Summary: With the Network imploding, leaving both Joe and Fenton in the dust as the organization becomes front headlines, Frank enlists Nancy Drew to head out with him on an off the grid manhunt for a phantom Network agent involved in an international drug cartel. The two find themselves in the midst of something far greater than the Network as the flames threaten to engulf them all.
1. Chapter 1

**October 3 3:20AM**

 _Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz. Bz—_

"Hello?"

"Nancy."

Nancy Drew, sits up in her bed. "Frank?"

She checked her cellphone's clock, wincing at the light. **3:20 AM.**

Her room was only illuminated by the LED street lamp from outside, bathing the room in a faint, blue glow. Her teddy bear rolled to the floor as she drew her knees her to chest.

This wasn't the first time Nancy had received a phone call in the middle of the night; usually they weren't from Frank Hardy. Kidnappers, secret societies, and murderers _loved_ calling her so late, but not the polite older Hardy.

"Nancy, open your window, I'm climbing up," he answered, his voice nearly vibrating through the window panes of her second story bedroom.

She rushed over the window, leaning out to see Frank Hardy using her porch railing to latch onto the roof that nested beneath her window. She carefully stepped onto the roof, offering a hand to her friend.

An electricity crackled around the air around them. The early October air was heavy with humidity and rain, fliting between an unbearable summer heat or the first chill of autumn. In a dark blue quarter zip jacket and jeans, Frank was nearly swallowed into the night compared to Nancy's bright purple pajamas.

He couldn't help but smile a little as he followed Nancy into her bedroom, nostalgia swelling in his chest like a balloon. The years spent with her and his brother on her bedroom floor trying to solve a case with the help of her corkboard and her dog Togo pulling off his socks seemed like a distant memory as his frown returned.

"I wish I was here under better circumstances, Nan, but there's no time to explain," Frank said, locking her bedroom door and grabbing her duffle bag from her closet. "We need to get out of here; I'll explain everything on the way."

"On the way to where?" she asked, sitting down next to the bag with her arms crossed. Frank chewed his bottom lip and looked away. "If we're in danger, if something has happened, I need to know what's going on before I pack a single pair of socks, Frank Hardy. Where's Joe? Is this Network related?"

Frank let go of the breath he was holding for the past six hours, kneeling next to Nancy. His hands found their way to her arms, absentmindedly rubbing circles into the fabric of her pajamas. Ned or not, he wasn't feeling like himself and the world felt flipped upside down.

After a long while he met her gaze again, unflinching. "Nance, I need you to trust me for 72 hours. You can't tell Hannah or Carson you're leaving; you just need to come with me and believe me when I say that everything will be okay."

Nancy eyed the floral print duffle bag on her bed, the zipper mouth gaping open and gasping for clothing.

"Okay."  
"Okay?" Frank asked, rising with Nancy. He watched her duck into her on suite bathroom, moments later emerging in a plain green sweatshirt and jeans, a backpack slung over her shoulder.

"Okay, but I expect a full answer, Hardy" she said, grabbing her cellphone and charger.

Frank took them from her hand and set them back on her bed. He reached into his pocket and handed her a plain flip phone. "I already got us a couple burners to keep in touch."

Nancy nodded, stuffing the phone into her pocket. She couldn't help but chuckle a little at the fact that Frank put one of the cellphone chargers she gave him from Japan on it; Nancy also banished the voice in the back of head asking how long Frank had kept a burner cellphone for her on reserve.

As she headed toward the window, she turned back at Frank who was following close behind her. "For future reference, Frank, my to go bag is always under my sink."

He smiled ruefully and as they left, shutting the window behind him.

Togo's barking was their only send off as Nancy hopped onto the back of Frank's motorcycle, the pair speeding off down her darkened, empty street.

 **WHERE THERE'S SMOKE**

 **October 3 7:50 AM**

Joe Hardy woke to the sound of hushed arguing below his window on his front porch. He groggily got up, padding over to the bay window of his room in sweatpants and a high school track shirt. The cool glass of the window woke Joe along with the spikes of hushed conversation.

"…ludicrous, Fenton! How do you have no idea…"

"We're figuring it out, Shannon, it's being handled."

"Then where's my daughter?!" the woman's voice climbed above whispering with each word.

A flock of crows erupted from the top of the oak tree in the Hardy's front yard, a couple red leaves joining the collection on the ground.

Joe cranked his window open as quietly as he could to try to peer down below. He pulled his phone off his dresser to begin recording the conversation; Frank would be so jealous to know that he got such a juicy tidbit on his own.

Fenton rubbed his eyes tiredly beneath his glasses. "We're doing all we can, I'm getting my top detectives on this today—"

"That's not good enough anymore, Fenton. I've already contacted the _real_ police and the _real_ FBI—"

"Call them off; you're going to compromise thousands of people all over the globe, Shannon. I will _personally_ find Sam and bring her back," Fenton said, his cool exterior being shaken by her threat.

"You can't send a 19-year-old to Italy and brush it off like she's studying abroad! She's in danger because of you!"

Shannon? Sam? Joe's father couldn't possibly mean _Shannon and Samantha Green_ , right? Joe leaned into the glass further, opening the window a little farther. The squeak was covered by the front door opening.

"Fenton, what's going on?" Joe's heart sunk.

"Nothing, Laura, is the coffee ready?" Fenton asked with a wry smile, throwing an arm over his wife's fluffy robed shoulders.

"Actually, Mrs. Hardy, there is something going on. Your husband's little club is about to implode if my daughter isn't found," Shannon cut in icily, her arms crossed to combat the early fall air.

"Club? I mean Fenton hasn't coached club baseball since the boys were in it…wait, who's missing?" Laura stepped out from underneath her husband's arm to face him across the porch near Shannon. "Is this a detective thing?"

Joe was leaning so far out of the window that he was almost falling out. He ducked back into his room, darting down the hallway to Frank's.

"Frank, we've gotta problem. Mom's onto us and we need to cover Da—"

Joe stopped, his weight braced on the door knob.

Frank's room was immaculately clean as usual; bed made, floor spotless, books alphabetized and fighting for space on his shelf. What was out of place was the fact that his brother was nowhere to be found, his cellphone left on its charger along with his wallet.

Joe flung open Frank's closet, searching for his black duffel bag he kept for last minute mysteries.

Gone.

He checked his desk for his secret stash of emergency cash.

Also gone.

The blonde sprinted down the stairs, a panic rising in his gut with each step he made toward the garage.

Tearing the door open, he froze. Frank's yellow motorcycle was missing along with its keys, leaving behind only a black can of spray paint in its place.

In a trance Joe made his way toward the front door, the arguing so loud that he was sure Aunt Gertrude could hear it over her whale sound machine.

"Fenton, how can this be true? You said you retired from all of this!" Joe saw his mother clutching her chest as if she had been wounded through the glass protecting the front red door hanging open. His steps slowed as he saw tears springing to her eyes.

"Trust me; if I would have known about the Network, my department would have shut it down years ago, much less have allowed my daughter to join," Shannon said, her rage simmering down to offer Laura condolences.

"The Network has solved more cases than Interpol has in the last 5 years—"

"Five years? This has been going on for five years and you didn't tell me?"

They stopped when Joe pushed his way through the front door, the color and humor drained out of his face. Sweat was cooling on his face before trickling down his neck like melting wax.

Before Laura could jump in, Fenton beat her to it. "Joe, what's up? You doing okay?"

"Joey, honey, did you know anything about this?"

"Of course he did; he and Sam worked on several cases together, isn't that right, Mr. Hardy?"

The words came up like vomit. "Frank's gone. I don't know where he is."

The questions burning on the adults tongues were doused when an army of news fans pulled up around the Hardy's blocks. Cameramen and photographers flooded the driveway and freshly mown lawn as the reporters fought for the best lighting in the rising sun.

"Good morning this is Vicki Blackwell—"

"Mark Shell—"

"Tamara Hogan—"

"Jamie Fuller with Channel 9 live from Fenton Hardy's resident. Just hours ago, The Network's database was leaked online—"

"Featuring past missions and operations, and the names of agents who were involved in the organization who all appear under the age of 22, the youngest being 14—"

"Mr. Hardy?"

"Mr. Hardy?"

"Mrs. Hardy?"

"Are you available to comment?"

"They won't be taking any comments now," a withered voice said, breaking through the sea of reporters. "As his attorney, I will release an official statement tonight just in time for the six o'clock news. Have a nice day!"

Carson Drew, Nancy's father, waved his attorney badge around like a battle flag. His grey suit impeccably tailored, but his expression screaming of exhaustion, ushered the group inside the house. He shut and locked the door behind him.

Joe hadn't seen the living room so crowded since Christmas with every seat cushion and armchair occupied by guests and family members. Carson was still leaning against the front door, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Fenton stopped his pacing to greet his old friend. "I always knew it was good to have you on retainer, Dr-"

"Frank came to the house last night and took Nancy."

The tea kettle steadily screamed as it sat abandoned on the stove. Shannon leapt to get it as the Hardy family had become immobile.

Carson's eyes found Joe's. "Do you know anything about this, Joe?"

He found himself speechless for the first time in his life, fighting for words.


	2. Chapter 2

**October 4, 11:00 am**

Frank's head knocked the side of the train's window pane, his skull vibrating in time to the rotating wheels. He had shelled out for a private cart, all in cash, where they could pour over case notes in peace. They were heading to New York to get on the next flight to Germany, posing as a couple on their honeymoon.

But they had to sacrifice luxury for safety until they made it to New York.

A car required too many stops where they could be recognized.

A plane was too risky, especially out of Bayport.

A train was just obsolete enough that no one would think to check for them there.

"So, let me get this straight," Nancy said, throwing her hair up in a ponytail. It had gotten much longer since the last time he saw her. "Samantha Green and Anthony Fucco were Network agents and partners, but Anthony turned out to be involved in a drug cartel they were investigating?"

"Dead on as always, Drew."

"Then why is Sam on the run? I thought she didn't do anything wrong?"

Frank leaned forward in his seat. "We don't know that, but that's why we have to find her before anyone else does."

"Isn't the FBI and Italian Police involved?"

Frank shrugged. "Yes, but her partner was connected to a mafia family that no one knew about and they were partners for _years_ before this broke. She's going go down as an accomplice if we can't clear her."

Nancy sighed, stuffing the case notes back into her bag. "This certainly is different from our other mysteries, Frank."

"Worried there won't be any secret passages?" He asked, exhaustion not allowing him to bite back a smile.

"I'm more relieved about the lack of trap doors or diamond smuggling," she said, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Too bad we don't have something more boring to bond over; people might be tempted to eavesdrop."

The glanced over at the partially open glass door separating their private car. Nancy beat him to close it tightly, slipping a "do not disturb" sign onto the knob before locking it.

Frank's nose wrinkled in a playful frown. "Like what? Selling candy to fundraise our club soccer team?"

"That's too specific. Is that your 'normal person fantasy'?" She asked, sitting down beside him to look over the casefile one more time.

Frank knocked his knee into hers, swinging to the rumble of the train engine below them."No, not being held hostage in a nuclear bunker on prom night is a better one."

"What? I never heard that story!" Nancy said, leaning forward, knocking their knees together in time to the train's vibrations.

"The case itself wasn't that interesting, it was the grand finale that made it memorable. All of our cases end the same, Nan; we always catch the bad guy."

"And this one?" His eyebrows furrowed at her insinuation. "Do you think there's a bad guy? I know you were pretty good friends with this girl."

 **August 1, 1:47 pm (one year prior)**

"Hey, Sam," Frank said, catching her arm before she walked towards the stairs. "I think you left your jacket in my room last time, do you want to check to see if it's yours?"

She smirked, brushing past him to enter his room. "Oh, to make sure it's not from some other random girl you allow in your room?"

His room was exactly as she'd imagine it: impeccable. Bed made, closet door closed, books in alphabetical order, it was every parent's dream for their child to have a room this clean. Well, except for her gray hoody laying over the back of his desk chair.

"Huh, you really did have it," she said, making a move to grab her jacket. Frank stopped her, motioning to the video pulled up on his laptop as he shut the door behind them.

It was a little grainy, the footage of a couple making out on a rooftop in Paris, the Eiffel Tower looming in the background. The audio was taken out, but it was clear who the two standing on the balcony were…

"I knew there was something more than a glitch in the security footage; I had a friend look into it and this was the part that was taken out," Frank began slowly, reaching around her to stop the video on a clear shot of her and her partner's face.

He held his breath as he waited for Sam to make a retort to cover her tracks or simply walk away, but she watched was frozen. She clutched her sweatshirt and wrung it in her white knuckles.

She smiled sheepishly after a while, her hand caught in the cookie jar. "You know, Frank, what they say about forbidden fruit…"

"That you shouldn't eat it?"

"No, that it tastes sweeter."

The silence hung between them like laundry on a line.

"You dad can't know about this," she continued, finding his brown eyes.

"He doesn't need to know unless it will impact your ability to do your job," Frank recited from the mental script in his head.

"Funny that there's still a fraternizing rule in the ol' Network considering…" Her anxiety is replaced with a predatory glance at the framed photo on his desk.

Frank turns it face down. "She doesn't count."

 **October 4 6:42 PM**

Laura Hardy has not come out of the master bedroom for four hours.

She went up there after Shannon had left, voice hoarse from screaming. Shannon's hand shook as she signed a gag order drawn up by Carson, snatching her coat off the back of a dining room chair before fighting her way through the barrage of reporters.

Joe laid on the floor of Frank's once spotless room, torn up from hours of he, his dad, and Carson searching for any clues. He could see the mixed pride on his dad's face as they came up with nothing; like father, like son. Another phantom living in the house.

He stared at the glow-in-the-dark stars stubbornly still glued to Frank's ceiling, there forever no matter how hard they tried to scrape at them.

Joe rolled his blue eyes toward Frank's bed before quickly shifting away.

How his dad had missed the most obvious place to look for clues was beyond him, but he didn't have the heart yet to point it out.

He's never treated his brother like a serious suspect before, but unlike other mysteries he would always be tied to this case. If Joe toed the line of Frank's trust any further, he may lose him forever.

But then again…

Downstairs, the battle of the titans wore down as Fenton and Carson's coffee cooled in their mugs.

"What were you thinking, Fenton? How long did you think you could keep this a secret? You're employing teenagers, _children_ , and you expected silence from them?" Carson asked, leaning back into the floral sofa to watch his friend pace.

"They aren't like other teenagers, Carson, they're like our kids—"

"If Nancy comes back from France with a broken arm I at least know where she got it from! How long have Frank and Joe lied to Trudy and Laura for your little side project? How have they been able to finish school and keep this up?"

Fenton slowed his pacing, casting a sideways glance at his friend. "They wouldn't have done this if they didn't want to—"

"What choice would they have had? You really think your boys would say no? Even if one of them did, the other would have to still tag along because they're a team. They idolize you, for better or for worse," Fenton replied, loosening his tie as he saw another news fan roll away through the slits in the closed blinds.

"They always had a choice. If they weren't happy, I didn't hear anything about it!"

Joe's heart pounded through his tee shirt as he used a flashlight to look beneath Frank's bed. Frank was too clever to put something so precious in the floor boards or just underneath his mattress.

With a final sigh, he found the coil at the far back of the mattress and pulled out a small, black leather-bound journal.


	3. Chapter 3

_**September 4 (one year prior)**_

 _Dear Nancy,_

 _My therapist said I should write a letter I'll never send to someone I care about because it's easier to be honest with my feelings than in a plain old diary. Not surprisingly, you were the first person who popped into my mind. I see a therapist now, for the first time in 20 years on this planet. I'm embarrassed it took me this long considering how many near death experiences I've had, but I feel like this often, Nancy._

 _This swirling infinite mass that sits on my chest like a dumbbell somebody much stronger left behind. I know I never told you this stuff before now, and I don't want you to feel like I didn't trust you as my friend to know how deep the roots of my depression go because I don't even tell Dad this kind of stuff, let alone Joe._

 _My mom noticed right away something was off, as she always does. Sometimes I think she's a better detective than Dad. She asked me to go to the grocery store with her after school and we pulled off into a park she used to take me and Joe to when we were little. We sat on a bench and we fed the ducks with this special duck food since bread hurts them. Mom asked me what was wrong and I felt too paralyzed to speak so I just started crying immediately._

 _Joe could talk your ear off about how I cry at every movie but…I feel like I'm a balloon about to burst. I carry around so many secrets, Nan, and none of them are my own. Why do people keep telling me secrets? I hate secrets. It's a mystery that's been solved for you against your will, or, in my case, creates a whole storm of mysteries that will create more of these awful, weighty secrets._

 _The duck pellets passed through my fingers like an hour glass as I sobbed in front of an audience of my mom and a chorus of quacking ducks. Mom just rubbed my back and held me for what felt like hours, judging from how much food I dropped and the sun's place in the sky._

 _She knew exactly how I felt and told me that she carried Major Depression Disorder on her side of the family. She was the first born of five, so she said jokingly it's a mark of maturity, that our awful trait is passed down to the eldest because they were meant to handle more responsibility._

 _I remember coming home from school over the years and seeing mom curled up in the floral arm chair facing the window. She would look out that window for hours, watching everything from me and Joe wrestling in a pile of leaves to the twinkling snowfall on a winter afternoon. Sometimes she'd be crying, sometimes attempting a smile; always, always silent._

 _Now that I sit in that chair every day that I know that Mom was not watching, she was waiting. Waiting for me and Joe to come in, the snow to stop, and for someone, anyone to ask her how she was feeling._

 _Thank you for listening._

 _Sincerely Yours,_

 _Frank_

 _ **October 3 (one year prior)**_

 _Dear Nancy,_

 _Things are getting slightly better, but somehow worse. Dad took me off cases since Mom told him about my therapy sessions. Dad originally kept assigning me and Joe to cases, probably trying to solve my problem the way he does; by throwing himself in a mountain of work and not talking to anyone about it. I used to be like that, but I think I'm more like my mom than my dad. Or maybe I'm finally just becoming myself. She doesn't know about the Network stuff, but he took off my case load regardless._

 _Joe has been both stir crazy and walking on egg shells since he can't go on cases too. It was easier talking to him about this stuff than Dad, but hard because I can't really tell exactly what's wrong like "hey Joe, our friend is having an affair with her partner and she breaks the rules all the time!" He can't keep a secret to save his life; no wonder he and Bess get on so well. Joe's been trying cheer me up the best he can by marathoning the Lord of the Rings extended blue ray edition with me and finding adventures around Bayport. I think we're canoeing and camping next weekend, so I'll try to send you pictures. Actual you, not letter you._

 _You probably want to know about Sam and Tony, right? You've met them once when we were on that case in Minnesota, and I remember you asked me if they were dating. Of course, you would pick up on it before me. When you, Bess, and George were helping us with that Paris case four months ago, I had George double check a fuzzy security feed to see if it was our suspects. It turns out when she enhanced the footage it was Sam and Tony making out on a rooftop with a bottle of champagne they got with their fake ids. I confronted Sam on it when she was at my house, and she was whatever about it._

 _One of the few rules we have in The Network is not using the organization's resources for personal gain and no fraternizing. She did both and just expects me to keep this little secret from Dad, the DIRECTOR. Maybe it's because I'm such a stickler for the rules, right? But I also hate lying but I lie to everyone in my life about everything. I lie to my mom and aunt and friends about The Network, I lie to Dad about Sam,_ _I lie to Joe about..._

 _I don't know who I'm supposed to be right now. Should the version of myself that's convenient for others or should I just be me?_

 _Talk to you again soon._

 _Your Friend,_

 _Frank_

 _ **December 25 (one year prior)**_

 _Dear Nancy,_

 _Merry Christmas. I'm still horribly depressed and my life feels like a barren, infinite landscape, but at least I can do it in a tacky reindeer sweater. I somehow feel worse around the holidays, maybe because I'm supposed to feel happy? I've been building forts and gingerbread houses, binge watching movies, and trying to reread The Christmas Carol like I do every year, but it's so fake. I feel like my family's concern is beginning to wear on their nerves, like they're checking their watches before I'll start "being myself again". Whatever that means._

 _Maybe I am myself right now. Maybe I've always been this miserable and I've just lived in denial at how utterly messed up my life is. I'm 20 years old and I'm a volunteer secret agent who almost dies (or watches my brother almost die) more than 5 times a year. I feel like I was always one hostage situation away from having a full on mental breakdown, but it's nice to know that all it took was for my friend to start screwing her partner and tell me to keep the secret._

 _Not much has happened since I last wrote to you. No new developments, no ease of tension, and I'm back on assignments starting in January. I guess Dad really wants to accelerate my "recovery process". He's so oblivious to emotional pain_ _I feel like it would take me cutting myself in front of him to notice how useless I am now._ _I would need to be physically crippled by my depression like a Victorian novel where the protagonist dies from a broken heart._

 _I'm sorry I'm so negative in these letters. I feel like this is the only place I can let everything air out, which I know is the point of this exercise but it's cringe worthy when I reference these in therapy or read them again on my own. I couldn't imagine if someone else read these; they woud think I was out of my mind. It's kind of funny how honest I am in these, to this fake version of you I've constructed in my mind. It's not entirely fake because I like the real you so much that I don't have to edit imaginary you to be easy to talk to, but I'll try to think of one positive thing from now on so I don't bore letter you._

 _I get to see you soon for New Years Eve, and since we can "legally" get champagne (I'm taking a note out of the Sam and Tony book by using my fake ID), we can have a nice party. I'll try to perk up for you, but that won't be hard. You and I are like a Tesla coil, Nan; we're on this dangerous, specific frequency only tuned into each other and we only allow other people to walk beneath us or through us._

 _Wow that was corny even for a therapy letter. I think you'll like your Christmas present: it's a night vision camera attachment for your cellphone. I threw the attachable selfie light in there as a joke, but if this means you'll send me more pictures of your face rather than Togo on Snapchat then it will be worth it._

 _See (the real) You Soon!_

 _Truly Yours,_

 _Frank_

 _ **January 1—**_

 _ **[page torn out]**_

 **October 5 1:09 AM**

Joe blinked.

He had been indulging in his brother's secrets for the past two hours, laying in his bed while he flipped through the journal entries. The lump in his throat only swelled further with each paragraph.

This wasn't Frank, right?

He had known Frank was worried about something, but he was _always_ worried. But the evidence was everywhere, as damning and obvious as a _Lifetime_ movie. A pill bottle shoved in the back of his vanity, how he began wearing sweatshirts in September, his drastic weight gain and subsequent loss. Joe had ribbed him about how he'd need to get bigger cargo shorts. It was the first time since they were little kids that he saw Frank's brown eyes glisten for a split second before he stormed out of the house, returning six hours later red faced and wobblily kneed.

Joe rubbed his eyes, searching for the missing page underneath Frank's bed only to turn up with nothing. The entry's date almost mocked him because here he was pawing through Frank's deepest desires and the one page he wanted was missing.

All this evidence right beneath his nose and Joe took Frank's measly explanation of being "overworked" at face value when asked why they weren't taking cases anymore.

What kind of detective was he? God, what kind of brother was he?

He set the book down, sitting up. He couldn't read any more, at least for right now. He stopped looking for clues a while ago because this mystery isn't just about who to point the finger at for toppling The Network or a drug cartel slip up; Joe needs to know why he didn't notice what was happening to Frank.

He left Frank's room, the leather journal hanging limply in his hand. At the end of the darkened hallway was his parent's room, a strip of light breaking through the blue darkness. It was more his mom's room now as Carson had gone back to his hotel and his dad was snoring on the couch below them.

Joe padded towards the slightly ajar door, pushing it open gently with his finger.

"Mom, I—"

Laura's blue eyes met her son's through a cloud of smoke flowing through her nostrils. A dragon in her cave. Smoking over stacks of photographs, she soundlessly patted the spot beside her on the bed.

Joe felt too old and too young to be in this scene.

"I didn't know you smoked."

"I didn't know you were a secret agent."

Joe closed his eyes, setting the journal on her night stand before sitting beside her.

He glanced at the album, ashes collecting in the creases of the plastic slips protecting the photos. The page she was on now was Halloween when he and Frank were 7 and 8, frowning at the camera in their matching _Power Rangers_ costumes because they _both_ wanted to be the red ranger, but neither wanted to yield.

"I remember that Halloween," he said, criss crossing his legs on the bed, "me and Frank split up so we thought we could get more candy than if we stuck together because we were the same ranger and I think Frank got lost—"

"You got lost and we found you stuck up a tree, four streets away because you thought we would find you better if you were taller," Laura corrected, tapping her cigarette ash into her empty coffee cup from this morning.

"Oh yeah..."

They lapsed into another silence, the ceiling fan sucking the pale gray smoke upwards like a propeller. It was too late at night to be awake, but too early in the midst of their family nightmare for him to excuse himself to go to bed. He hadn't seen his mom since that explosive fight on the front lawn, and he needed someone to talk to as he digested his brother's journal.

"Mom, I'm so sorry," Joe said, trying again. "I should have told you before you found out like this but Dad—"

She brought the cigarette to her lips to inhale before changing her mind. "I am as much your mother as Fenton is your father. Did you think that my delicate sensibilities as a woman would have been to great to comprehend why my only children would want to go out and risk their lives for a shadow government? That I just sit around here knitting and darning my husband's socks while I wait for him to come back home from his…his… _fishing trips?_ "

The cigarette steadily burned into a column of ash, Lot's wife quaking between her fingertips.

"I always knew you and Frank were off solving mysteries; I just never knew why you didn't feel comfortable telling me. You can't lie to me, your own mother! I'm not an idiot, Joseph Irving, and I want you to tell it to me straight what you think is going on."

She shut the photo album, the ash spilling over her just beginning to wrinkle hands and onto the blue cover. She snuffed out the rest and tossed it in the trash.

Joe blinked a couple times, the lump in his throat returning. "Why didn't you tell me about Frank?"

"The same reason you didn't tell me about The Network, sweetheart: it would upset you, and you wouldn't have believed me."

Joe buckled, throwing his arms around his mom. Laura held her son tightly to her chest, her arms barely fitting inside his embrace as they whispered "sorry, sorry" over and over again.

A/N: I originally uploaded this with Laura's name as Linda so sorry about that, honest to god mistake on my part! And as much as this is a mystery, it's also a family drama. I always disliked how Laura Hardy never knew about ATAC and was just written off as "the mom" while Aunt Trudy was the funny old maid in Undercover Brothers. Think of this fic as my answer to reading 20+ of those books as a kid and only now after I picked up an English and Creative Writing Degree specializing in female Gothic literature that I think about the ramifications of the patriarch keeping such an explosive secret from your wife. I will not be sympathetic to Fenton Hardy in this fic; no parent willingly puts their own children or other children in danger for the "greater good". I'm seeking to explore those ramifications through Frank's mental health and Joe's fractured trust in his father and his own brother. I update as I please because I am in my final semester of my cinematic arts degree so bear with me folks!


	4. Chapter 4

**October 4 11:34 PM**

"Frank, you should get some sleep."

"How can you tell I'm awake."

"You usually snore."

"I only snore when—"

"You have a cold or you're exhausted," she finished with a hushed chuckled. "I've been trapped in enough basements, closets, car trunks, and bunkers with you to know that, Frank."

Nancy felt like she was at girl scout camp. Separated by a top bunk, Nancy watched Frank toss and turn through the imprints he left in his mattress above her. She almost wondered when they would get their badge for making friendship bracelets.

They had spent all day plotting out their plan of attack, tracking down Sam's social media for updates, and checking the Network scanners. There was an eerie radio silence, a white noise hanging above their casual chatter throughout the rest of the night. She couldn't tell exactly when they stopped talking about the case and started talking about everything else.

It was more than catching up between two friends; it was more of a tentative reaching out and hanging desperately on.

The top bunk stopped creaking. "Sometimes I think we spend too much time together, Nan."

"I don't."

The top bunk creaked again, the weight concentrated to the side away from the wall when Frank leaned down to look like Nancy. She sat on the ceiling, her red hair resting stubbornly on her t shirt clad shoulders.

Frank sighed, leaning back up as the blood began to rush to his head. "Yeah, I wish we could go to Germany without a mystery but-"

"I wouldn't have it any other way, Frank. When we're done we can explore a bit; I know this great castle out near a forest that would give us a free room," she said, tapping his arm that hung downwards.

The arm retracted, pulling itself into his cot. "Maybe, if we don't get arrested first."

It was Nancy's turn to sigh.

He had been like this _all day_.

Push and pull, positive then negative, Frank couldn't fixate on just one emotion. She could handle a nervous or shy Frank, but a negative one was too grating on Nancy's already frazzled nerves.

She hopped out of bed, climbing the cold green ladder up to his cot. Nancy took a seat at his feet, resting her legs over the edge. Frank reluctantly sat up, criss crossing his legs beside her still wrapped up in his thick wool blanket.

"Who would arrest us? Network agents?" she asked, her eyes searching for his face in the muted light coming through the pulled blinds of their car's door.

He ran a hand through his dark, mussed hair. "I don't know; a lot of them are probably scrambling to hide right now since their identities are exposed."

"Do you know who leaked The Network to the press?"

"…"

"Frank?"

"I-I"

"What?" She put a hand on his arm, her grip as tight as her voice.

He swallowed as he tried again. "I had to keep my family safe."

Nancy's grip slackened, but she didn't let go of his arm. "You did this? How? Why?"

His brown eyes flashed with the passing lights of a parallel train, a sigh escaping his lips.

"The last assignment Joe and I were on, before all of _this_ happened," he began, gesturing to the bags collecting beneath his eyes, "we were stopping these thugs who were stealing endangered animals from the San Diego Zoo. We cornered the ring leader near the bird exhibit when he pulled out a gun—"

"Frank, that's happened so many times before how was this different?" Nancy asked, her hand sliding down his arm to reach his hand.

"Because he fired it right into Joe's arm. Didn't even blink!" He whispered, his voice heated as he tried to pull away from her. "He didn't see us as a couple of meddling kids; he saw us as a threat and didn't hesitate to try to kill us. We can't have the Network equip us with fucking _Spy Kids_ gadgets when we're going against hardened criminals. It was either I end the Network or the Network end me."

Their rising heart rates fell in tandem with train's steady rhythm.

She held on tighter, leaving nail marks. "Frank, your dad could go to jail for this."

"Good! Let him finally retire!" His whisper rose with his temper, turning fully to face her as he continued, "Call me selfish, or reckless, or stupid; call me all three. Just don't say I don't care about my family because I'm doing this for them! My mom and my aunt deserve to know everything I've kept from them, and I don't want to live like this anymore, Nancy. I don't want Joe to live like this anymore either."

The train rumbled through the mattress, their shoulders glued together.

"You wouldn't think I would understand, Frank?"

He looked back, the white strips of a passing train car flashing across his body.

"My mom was killed by a spy organization after she got out only because her friend lied to bring her back into it," Nancy began, swallowing the ever-present lump in her throat whenever she talked about her mom. "She loved me and my dad and her friends, not more than she loved to help other people, but more than what she was willing to risk. But sometimes other people don't respect that."

He brushed her strawberry blonde hair away from her face, turned silver in the blue darkness and emergency lights. Frank wished he could muster an even an ounce of shyness, but that all went out the window when he called her at 3:00 am.

"You were the only person I thought to bring with me, Nancy. I know Dad might hate me, and Joe may never talk to me again, but I knew if you were here everything would be okay. Not perfect, not happy, but okay."

"George said something similar when I went to Japan with her and Bess," she said with a laugh. "I feel like sometimes I attract more mysteries than vacations, but I don't know what else I would do; I can't knit and I can't see myself taking classes like 'Mr. Business Degree' right here."

"I want to make my own detective agency, Nan. Just you, me, and Joe. George could be our techie, and Bess would be a great PR person—"

"You've given quite a lot of thought to this already."

"I needed to see an end. In three years I will have a degree and enough experience to start something amazing that will help other people on _my_ own terms. My dad said he would give me a loan, but after all this I may have to start rooting through my piggy bank," he said, trying to control the bitterness in his chuckle.

She dropped her hand from his arm, squeezing his knee. "You can root through mine too, Frank. I would love to be able to work with you and Joe all the time. I didn't realize until my case in Iceland how much I shut myself off from people I cared about-"

She glanced once at him before quickly looking away.

"I'm sorry, Frank, I should just get over it by now, huh? You're tired of hearing about it I'm sure."

His warm hand covered her own hand on his knee. "It's okay, I don't mind; you've heard enough of my relationship woes for the both of us."

"When I came back from Iceland, and he said it was over, I should have realized it was karma for all the times I forgot everything about him. As if sending him a sword and a sweater is a replacement for me _being there_ and—I'm sorry, you have enough on your plate—" Nancy said, stopping herself by tucking her hair behind her ear.

"How many pairs of shoes does Bess own?"

"30, actually 29 now; she's gotten really into the art of discarding things so she's just beginning to cut back," she said, a small smile sneaking up to her face when she thought of Bess' enthusiasm. "She wants to have a capsule closet of under 100 total clothes."

He beamed back at her. "I don't think that'll happen anytime soon, but I love her drive. But what is the name of Mr. Drew's favorite golf course?"

"Timberline and Frank: please call him Carson, you've more than earned his respect."

He releases her hand to fold his own, bringing them up to his chin to think. "Hmm…When was the fourth time we kissed on a case?"

Nancy looks away for a moment, both trying to remember and trying to avoid the mirthful look in Frank's eyes.

"We've only kissed three times," she began slowly. She counted off on her fingers, "Once on a plane, once in a drive in, and once on a boat. Maybe _you_ should get _your_ memory checked, Hardy."

"Not on a train?" he said, his brown eyes turned amber in the light.

She swallowed. "Not…No."

The natural magnetism that always draws their faces together is here. He can count the flecks of grey in her blue eyes with each passing strip of light.

"See…you remember things you care about, no matter how small the detail," he said, pulling back.

"I guess so."

AN: Whoo, sorry about the long update y'all but this bitch is a college graduate now, hey-o! I had this finished for a while and wanted to add more but realized it's way better to separate this chapter from the next in order to clear up confusion for the time lines. This universe is heavily rooted in the HerInteractive games so if any of the references sound familiar that's where I'm pulling from because Frank's pining in the game is so delightful. Thank you for all the kind reviews and follows and I hope to update soon as I go on the scary job search!


	5. Chapter 5

Joe awoke the next morning with a crick in his neck from sleeping on the floor of his mom's bedroom. As he sat up, he peeked over the blue quilt on his parent's bed to find his mom was still sleeping. Rising carefully, he tiptoed out of the room, Frank's journal shoved into the deep pocket of his sweatshirt.

The stairs creaked as he went downstairs, and he nearly jumped at seeing his dad's back to him, making coffee.

Joe sat down at the island counter, rubbing his neck and unsure of what to say.

"Good morning," Fenton began, looking for coffee mugs.

"Hey." His son busied himself by trying to remove the stain on the counter with his bitten off fingernail.

"Trudy extended her visit with her friend Beverly for the time being. They're going on an Alaskan cruise."

"That's cool."

Fenton couldn't stand the silence beginning to settle like sugar in the bottom of lukewarm coffee. "Carson has cameras watching the front door of his house. Frank was able to avoid it, but he parked his bike not close enough to the house."

Joe couldn't help but think Frank made the mistake on purpose, feigning carelessness so Carson knew who Nancy was with.

"Have they found the bike yet?"

"No."

"Oh." The journal burned a hole in Joe's pocket and he wondered if his dad would ask why his hands were still in the pockets of his hoody.

"Dad," Joe began, carefully, "do you think this has anything to do with Sam's disappearance?"

"Great minds think alike," Fenton replied, a fondness crinkling in the corners of his eyes.

"I mean, the timelines match up, do you think they could be going to Italy?"

"If Sam is even half as smart as I think she is, she won't even be on the same _continent_ before Frank and Nancy could even reach her.

"She's like Nightcrawler from _X-Men_."

"Yeah, but at least Nightcrawler is _blue_ and has a _tail_. She's hard to pick out of a crowd."

They jumped at a knock on the backdoor. Fenton held a hand up, walking around the counter to peek through the drawn blinds.

A relieved smile broke across his face.

Carson slipped through the door, saying, "I brought reinforce—"

"Joe!" Bess cried, almost knocking him off the bar stool with her strong hug.

"Don't cut off too much air to his brain, we still need him for later," George said dryly, putting her and Bess' duffle bags down before squeezing Joe's shoulder.

"There I was, putting my suitcase in the car at 4:00am when these two," Carson began, nodding his head toward them as he unpacked his briefcase, "come out of nowhere with their bags packed saying they need to come with."

"Don't blame us; Nancy taught us to never say no to a mystery," Bess said, finally releasing Joe from her death grip.

Before she completely pulled away, Joe whispered into her hair, "Follow me upstairs."

"Well I'm gonna shower if I have to be hanging around such esteemed company all day," Joe announced, slowly rising.

"No fair, we've been traveling all day," Bess replied with a pout, grabbing her bag to try to beat him upstairs.

"Yeah whatever happened to lady's first, Joe?" her cousin chimed in, taking the hint as she followed the two blondes upstairs.

Joe ushered them into his bedroom, closing the door behind them.

"Okay, so what's the _real_ story?" George asked, sitting criss-cross on his bed. Bess sat beside her, hugging his pillow.

"Frank and Nancy are missing and Sam Green might be involved in her boyfriend's drug ring—"

"Tony has a drug ring—" George began, only to be cut off by her cousin's excited whisper.

"Tony and Sam are dating?!"

" _I know!_ I don't know why Frank wouldn't tell me that or why he would take Nancy on this top-secret mission instead of me," Joe replied, sitting in his desk chair.

"Well for one, Frank was trying to keep the dating thing a secret since that incriminates Sam more and _you_ would have been in trouble for keeping it a secret too, Joe," George said, running a hand through her short, dark hair.

"Yeah, and Nancy has an outside perspective, so she has a more objective view," Bess said, nodding.

He sighed, knowing they were both right, spinning around slowly in his chair as he thought out loud. "It doesn't make it any less stressful, especially now that The Network is completely compromised too, so we don't have any resources to go on."

The trio sat in silence for a while, the information simmering in their overcooked heads. Joe's thumb stroked the leather of the journal.

"Do you think…" Bess began, stopping when blue and brown eyes stabbed through her.

"Do I think what?" Joe asked, leaning forward.

Bess tried again, playing with her split ends. "Do you think maybe _Frank_ had anything to do with the Network stuff?"

"Frank wouldn't do that, he's too straight laced," George said, tossing a small foam football up in the air as they speculated. "But on the other hand no one would see that coming."

"No way, Frank never mentioned anything about having a problem with the Network," Joe said, catching the football and tossing it back to George.

"That's not what he told Nancy!"

Bess clapped a hand on her mouth, muttering curses.

The football fell into Joe's lap, his body rigid. "Where did you hear that from?"

"I may've, kinda sort of, accidentally read a text he sent to Nancy about it."

"WHAT?" George and Joe cried, barely keeping their shock down.

"As if you or Nancy have _never_ gone through someone's phone for clues," Bess said with a huff. "You gum shoes are nosier than my heels!"

"That is saying a lot," her cousin chimed in.

"Clues for what?"

"They were texting _a lot_ after the New Years party, but Nancy wouldn't say anything about it! So I checked her call record first and the last _ten phone calls_ had been to Frank, not including _3 video chats_. I didn't have time to get context for the whole convo, but Frank said that he was going to send in his resignation to The Network 'soon'," Bess explained, using air quotes.

"How long ago was that?"

"Maybe a month ago, I think," she guessed.

"That lines up Sam and Tony's Italy investigation," George said, searching Joe's eyes for any recognition.

Joe's hand went to the journal, hesitating for a second before pulling it out and checking the dates of the last few entries. Frank had stopped writing mid-September, but there must have been _something._

"What's that?"

"Frank's journal."

"Journal? What is this? A gothic romance?"

"No, but it's a timeline we can sync to the texts Bess screenshotted, so let's get cracking!"

AN: I am so sorry for the delay! I moved states in the meantime and my retail job keeps me busy as I search for a career in the nonprofits around here! I'm again splitting up the chapters so you can have an update and to separate the timelines because the next chapter is going to get sticky!


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